


Do Not Go Gentle

by thepizzasitter



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aw yiss gimme that bowman on his knees, Bard Whump, Barduil - Freeform, Barebacking, Begging, Biting, Bottom Bard, Caring Thranduil, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hints of D/s dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Light Masochism, M/M, Mafia AU, Off screen Torture, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Smitten Bard, So is Bard, Thranduil is Crushing Harder than a 12-year old Girl, Thranduil wants to give Bard everything, Top Thranduil, author will stop making ridiculous tags now, elrond thinks they're adorable and is glad no one got decapitated, how do those even go together i give up, these dumbasses are so in love, this ship blindsided me so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepizzasitter/pseuds/thepizzasitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He knew what he’d done. He knew exactly what promises and agreements he’d trampled on, without a second thought. Never mind that his actions had saved the only person who mattered besides the children he’d left in the care of his sister when he’d begun this double life of deceit and danger, hoping against hope that it might make enough to provide for his beautiful family.</p><p>Never mind that he would do it again in a heartbeat."</p><p>Barduil Mafia/Mob AU in which gun toting assassins and powerful mob bosses get happy endings every so often, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Go Gentle

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by mixed-bless-ing and their Mafia AU art over on Tumblr. Found here: http://mixed-bless-ing.tumblr.com/post/107894016287/thranduil-bard-mafia-au-story-of-a-mafia-boss
> 
> My Tumblr is kesstiel and I pretty much only go on there to write and cosplay for you all!
> 
> Characters are not mine, no offense was meant, etc. etc. This was unbeta'd and written at a ridiculously late (early?) hour, so errors are mine. These two were constantly caught between wanting unadulterated smut and tooth rotting fluff, and somehow I'm pretty sure they came to an interesting median, the little weirdos. I also tried to balance modern wording with a more Middle-Earth-like cadence, which was challenging to say the least. Hopefully I did alright. Critique and comments are, of course, more than welcome.
> 
> The title is from Dylan Thomas's poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Dark Night." Song inspirations for the sexytimes were "Stuck on a Feeling" by Prince Royce and "Flesh" by Simon Curtis.

It had been two weeks, and Bard still had yet to see the man he’d risked everything for.

In fact, it had been two weeks since he’d seen anything outside the tiny room he’d woken up in after the four days he’d spent in a very literal hell. Elrond had been in and out to treat his wounds, but he staunchly refused to tell Bard anything about the goings on in the mob or its elusive leader. Tauriel had visited him twice, helping him spar when he felt the stillness had grown beyond his ability to cope. She never asked him about his wounds, respecting his decision to do what he would with his body. Beyond the doctor and his fellow assassin, though, he’d had no contact with the outside world.

It was beginning to make him a bit stir crazy.

The cuts and bruises, the burns and lash marks would all heal with time, and they certainly looked a far sight better now in comparison to when he’d first been dragged back from Erebor, the stronghold of the Mirkwood division’s most bitter and ruthless enemy. Lead by a company of thirteen (though there were rumors of an addition to that number more recently), the faction had long since broken off from the main group, and Thranduil had never been one to forgive betrayal so easily.

Hence, Bard’s current predicament.

He knew what he’d done. He knew exactly what promises and agreements he’d trampled on, without a second thought. Never mind that his actions had saved the only person who mattered besides the children he’d left in the care of his sister when he’d begun this double life of deceit and danger, hoping against hope that it might make enough to provide for his beautiful family.

Never mind that he would do it again in a heartbeat.

As if summoned by the traitorous thought, the door opened once more, and without even turning around, Bard knew that it was not Elrond or Tauriel coming to keep him company.

Bard’s shoulders were one rigid line of tension, and he closed his eyes and prayed only that he would not be sent away. He’d endure anything, words or blows or whatever else Thranduil might see fit to punish him with--though if he were being honest, he was more than a little terrified to potentially be on the receiving end of the kind of horrific and creative punishments his boss had ordered be inflicted on his victims in the past. He’d always played a different role: the shield mate, torturer, executor, closest ally, judge, counselor, devil’s advocate, friend, gunman, assassin, intel, almost lover--

He wouldn't let the tears escape. He would debase himself before this powerful man, scream, beg, kneel, whatever was deemed just. He would take what might come, but he would not be made to leave. To be forced from Thranduil's side would be a far worse fate than death. A dog, he’d long known, was loyal to a fault.

“Bard.” _No, no! Do not speak to me, do not break the silence! I’m not strong enough to look at you yet._ “Bard, look at me.”

And how could he do anything but comply?

Thranduil's voice was gentle, but anyone who didn't know that Thranduil grew softer and quieter when he was livid was already long dead. Thranduil’s capacity to protect and love what was his was only matched by his cruelty towards anything that stood in his way.

Those grey, ageless eyes held his, and Bard felt his knees ache to fall to the ground and plead for his place here. It was there, in the cold depths of that gaze. There was nothing but grim determination, and Bard’s greatest fear was about to come to fruition.

Before his master could speak, he slowly sank to the floor, knowing that Thranduil hated being interrupted or taken by surprise when he was getting ready to unleash his righteous fury on the nearest thing in his vicinity, but unable to help himself.

He crawled forward, and in a move so bold it shocked even himself, he tangled his fingers with those of his leader and rested his head against Thranduil's long legs.

“Please,” he murmured, ignoring the shameful tears that were falling to the ground below. “Surely you must know that there is nothing I won’t submit to if it means you’ll change your mind. I beg of you, don’t send me away. If you must kill me, show me the mercy I am due for countless years of unending service and just do it with a weapon. Don’t make me face my family--my _children_ \--with all the blood on my hands and with my heart barely beating. I don’t know how to face the world if it’s not to stand between you and the death that surrounds you on all sides. I...I don’t know how to walk if it's not a step behind you, nor breathe if it isn't in service of you...”

He could speak no further, and simply shook his head against the soft material of what Thranduil considered his lounge wear, no matter how luxurious it may be. He frowned, conflicting signals mixing in his mind, unable to understand why Thranduil would come here looking like anything less than the deadly man he was when fulfilling a sentence.

Hands caressed the sides of his face and stroked the hair at the back of his head, and like the hopeless mutt he was, he leaned into the touch, uncaring that the likelihood of this being an affectionate gesture was slim.

“What would you have me do instead, Bard?” It was a genuine question, and Bard had to rapidly try and quell the hope rising in him.

“Anything!” He spoke too quickly, and fought the roughness of his voice to look up at Thranduil and speak again.

“Anything. I’ll do whatever you ask, short of hurting my children.” To say it was unnecessary. Thranduil considered Bard’s children his family as much as any of the mob, even if the treasures of his heart would never know how much protection they were under. “You can hurt me, confine me, send me to a mission from which there is no return, starve me, whatever you want. I won’t say a word, I promise, unless you demand it of me.”

The tortured look in Thranduil's eyes was almost too much to bear.

“Please,” he begged once more, lowering his eyes back to the floor.

To find himself suddenly hauled to his feet and thrown onto the bed was disorienting in the extreme. Thranduil's face suddenly hovering above him, hands clasped over his wrists to hold him pinned to the mattress and the full weight of that impenetrable gaze directed at him was even more so.

“Have I not proven, time and again, that I am not _him_?” The word was spat in utter disgust, and Bard didn't need to ask who he meant. He shivered, and broke into a shaky, cold sweat, knowing full well who Thranduil spoke of.

Bard had once served another, though in a far lower position than the one he held in Thranduil's ranks. The Master had been every wretched mafia stereotype under the sun: powerful, rich, cruel, cowardly, heartless, spoiled, portly, and malicious in the extreme. He did not care about his people, least of all a lowly sniper he’d swept up from the gutter. Bard’s knowledge that he could endure just about anything came from the time he’d spent in that snake’s service. He’d been broken and haphazardly patched back up more times than he could count, and to think of his world before Thranduil had stepped in and made a bargain that had altered the course of his life forever had him quivering while he fought back the bile those terrible memories brought to the surface.

The horror written across Thranduil's face was instant, and he let up from holding Bard in place only to draw him close, tucking the hitman's face into the crook of his neck as Bard tried to keep his grip on reality. He gasped for air, but could barely breathe through the tears. Thranduil made a sound of distress and held him closer, letting his expensive shirt be soaked and running his hands up and down Bard’s back so lightly it didn't cause even a twinge of pain from his wounds. He eventually slid them up to hold Bard’s face in his hands, thumbs rubbing under his eyes to brush the tears away.

“Perhaps we are more alike than I care to admit.” Bard opened his mouth to deny it, but Thranduil silenced him by pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m so sorry, Bard. I did not mean to stir memories that are better left untouched.”

“I deserved it.” It was said hoarsely, but with a conviction that left Thranduil's heart aching to take the pain that his most beloved friend had suffered.

“You deserve nothing of the kind. You deserve the riches of the world, the comforts and protection of my home and my people, the laughter and gratitude of your children, the respect of any who look upon you...you deserve so much, Bard, but pain and humiliation? The life you endured before you pledged service to me? The torture you suffered on my behalf, even when I told you that your priority was to get in, get out, and come back unharmed? The abuse and deprivation you endured from Thorin and his company _because of me_? No. No, I do not believe you deserve such things.”

“Then, please, let me stay.” Bard’s fingers, so coarse and blunt compared to the long, elegant ones before him, gripped Thranduil's tightly, and when his face turned away in denial of his request, Bard's heart nearly broke in two.

“How can you ask me to allow you to remain here, Bard, knowing that you will defy my direct orders when I give them? I see things that you do not. Such is the nature of my position here, and so I am the only one who holds every card. I share many of them with you, thinking I have nothing to fear from you, my most trusted friend, though it seems I have far more to worry about than I thought." He looked so troubled by it, but still resolved.

"Even so, I do not show you everything. There are aces and trump cards that are only for my eyes, and when I give an order, I need everyone under my command to understand that even if they do not see the reason, the method beyond the madness, it is there and I do everything with the best of all outcomes in mind. Life is not cheap, not even to one such as me, and I do not spill the blood of my family recklessly. Plans exist that enable all things to carry on if I am wiped off the board, and that places your life value and mine on an equal level. When I tell you that you must go to keep yourself alive, _I need to know that you will do it_.”

“That’s exactly why I didn't!” Bard shouted, and it was with more defiance than Thranduil had ever seen from his friend. In spite of everything, the force in Bard’s voice was such that he couldn't help but cave under it, shock showing on his face.

“You think our lives are equal, and they are, but for very different reasons than you think. You think I pledged my service to you for what I would gain--the wealth and the safety of the mob--and don’t you deny it. I see it on your face constantly, the thought that I’m here to steal from you. It drives me mad, knowing that you think this and also knowing it’s not my place to tell you otherwise!” He ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, grateful for Thranduil's silence as he tried to convey what he’d wanted to say for years now.

“To this day, I do not understand why you allow me into the darkest places of your life, thinking that I’m here for my own benefit. Regardless, I am going to set the record straight right now, Thranduil, and damn it all you will _listen_ to me! I am not here to hurt you. I am not here to rob you or as a temporary measure until I can cast everything aside for something better. _There is no ‘something else’_! There is nothing _better_! I am here because you are. Here, or in another city or country, with all the world at your command or not a penny to your name, in another life altogether, it doesn’t matter. I stay, because where else would I be but near you?”

And nothing could be more true. Everything he was, he was able to be because of this man. He’d flourished from something so broken he was nearly unrecognizable to himself at times, and it was because Thranduil had seen something no one else had, and given him a chance to discover what it was.

“I’ve been wholly yours since you took me from the meager existence I knew before, and told me what I am worth in your eyes. I defied your order because you think you hold all the cards, but you do not know that if your hand is spent, and your life is the forfeit, _my_ hand comes into play. I am not skilled like you. I know only what you have taught me, but bluffing gets you farther than anyone ever thinks." It was because of this he had the respect of every card player in the stronghold.

"I knew I only needed to give you time, and you would think of another way out. I gambled well, and if you had only managed to get yourself to safety, then I still would have cut my losses with more gratitude than I can express. Our lives are equal, Thranduil, because mine would have collected the same price as yours, as any other person’s would have, and I would pay it over and over if it meant keeping you safe. My life is a mere shadow of itself without you in it. You had no right to demand that I sacrifice us both, one way or another, and so yes, I defied an order that was not yours to give.”

The silence rang in a strange way, and Bard found himself out of energy, slumping forward to rest against Thranduil's shoulder, too exhausted to do anything but let Thranduil hold him again, the coolness of the other’s hand pressed as a balm against the heat searing his neck in his embarrassment.

“You're an idiot if you think I would have ever even considered walking away from you,” he mumbled, daring to reach up and card his fingers through that beautiful, silken hair. He’d gotten this far on pure recklessness. What was one more confession? “I don’t need you to feel the same way. Whatever friendly affection or protectiveness or whatever the hell else you regard me with is more than enough. I need only to be allowed to stand by you, and to know that you are safe. I’m not asking permission, Thranduil. If you force me out, I’ll simply find my way back in. You have said I’m the very best the city has to offer on more than one occasion, and I will use every trick in my arsenal to make my way back to you as many times as is needed. Might as well save yourself all the trouble and just let me stay.”

They both simply breathed deeply for a moment, and Bard could actually feel it when Thranduil let go of the tension in his form. The anger and hurt was dissipating, but Bard felt justified in being truly shell-shocked by what replaced it when he finally spoke.

“You’re right, of course.” Thranduil's low voice was resigned and yet somehow...lighter? “Far too perceptive for a hitman, you know. I don’t know what I was thinking, letting such an intelligent man into my ranks. God knows it’s only a matter of time before I’m foisted from my position. Everyone loves you more anyways, I have no doubt mutiny will soon be upon me.” It was said in a teasing grumble, and they both grinned a little at the ridiculous thought.

Bard had been offered leadership in usurped factions more times than he could count, and each had been politely declined with a shrug and a private smile.

Something essential had shifted. Thranduil regarded him seriously, and traced the crinkles around Bard’s eyes that told long tales of tears, sorrow, laughter, and joy. He leaned forward, and Bard held himself completely still as Thranduil's lips traced along the back of the assassin’s hand to press feather light kisses against his bandaged split knuckles.

“I fail to see, however, why you came to the conclusion that your feelings could not be returned. I would give up much for you, Bard. If I am the leader of my people, you are my motivation to be one. You say your life would be a shadow without me, and yet you have ignored the truth that mine might be just as empty should you be taken from me. I would be halved if you had died that day." He laid an open mouthed kiss on the palm of Bard's hand, lost in thoughts of what might have been stripped from him.

"I am grateful that you saw beyond your fear and grief in a way I could not at the time, but understand that I make mistakes because of you. It is not your fault or blame to bear, but the thought of you never again laughing at my ill-timed humor or never being able to lay eyes on your warm smile scares me beyond measure. That such a brilliant and exquisite light might be snuffed out while I can do nothing but watch is not a blow I could live through without becoming something I never want to be. I’m terrified, Bard. I don’t know what to do but send you home to your family so that I might not drag you further into the darkness when we both know it’s the light we crave more than anything.”

Bard wrapped his arms around Thranduil and sighed softly, a content and hopeful thing. “Then let me give you the council you say I’m so good at. Let me stay without fuss, and I will pledge myself to you once more. Not just to your service, but to _you_. I will heed your orders in everything, save for when you’re being too bloody pigheaded to see the unacceptable outcome it will bring about. I’ll put my faith in your decisions, and you’ll trust mine when I see something you do not and act accordingly. _You_ are my family, Thranduil, as much as my children are. You know full well what a family does, and why. I would do that, for you, if you’ll let me.”

“You would love me, in spite of who and what I am?” Thranduil's heart ached for such a possibility.

“I love you _because_ of it,” Bard returned simply. “Was it not you who told me blades grow sharper when scraped against stone? Who you are is my beloved. What you are is immeasurably precious to me. If I am the same to you, anything else is ours to expand and temper and perfect.”

He tilted his head up expectantly, and Thranduil laughed and leaned down to grant his request. Their first kiss was gentle, and caring, everything they weren’t, and easy enough that Bard thought it might last forever, even with all the obstacles still to be faced.

Thranduil’s lips rubbed back and forth along the stubble of his jaw, nuzzling the line of his throat in slow circuits, and paused every so often to brush a tender kiss against his neck, the spot just below his ear, his cheek and his temple, whispering his name before he pulled back with adoration in the curve of his smile. Their mouths met again, and this time they had no intention of keeping the flames banked.

“I eagerly anticipate taking that journey with you, my love,” Thranduil murmured against the sweetness of their kiss, and opened his mouth to entice Bard in to play.

\---

By their fourth kiss, ‘gentle’ and ‘sweet’ were things of the past.

The care, the passion, and the love were all apparent, but instead of calm waves, the fervent press of their mouths was more akin to a torrential rain.

By the sixteenth, ‘hurricane’ was far more apt.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Bard breathed, voice catching on a moan. He was pressed into the mattress once more, held down by Thranduil’s deceptively capable hands, his legs spread to accommodate the taller form of the most powerful person this side of the country. His shirt was already a mess, unbuttoned to the waist and pushed to the side. Thranduil had unfettered access to the expanse of his chest and stomach, and was thoroughly taking advantage of the fact.

A wicked tongue was wreaking havoc on his senses, lapping at the bite marks littering his skin, all of them proclaiming exactly who he belonged to. The sting of fabric and wet heat against his injuries only heightened the exquisite sensations burning him from the inside out. Thranduil had asked only once if it would hurt too much to do this now, when more bandages were revealed beneath his clothes. The low moan of pained pleasure Bard let loose when Thranduil pressed a hand to one of the shallower wounds, covered by the wrappings, was more than enough to dispel any thoughts of stopping.

By the time the rest of their clothes followed his shirt to the floor, neither of them felt inclined to stifle their appreciative moans any longer. Thranduil toyed with his nipples, using teeth and tongue to drive Bard wild with need. Strong hands slipped into the splay of long, silver blond hair running over Thranduil’s shoulder to hold him there, and Thranduil hummed in pleasure when his hair was pulled into a tight grip, arching his neck to request more. His lips were obscene, when he pulled back, red and full and bruised, and if Bard wasn’t certain he’d come the second it touched his cock, he’d already be thrusting into that pretty mouth.

“So beautiful like this, Bard.” If Bard whimpered, it was no one’s business but their own. “I have half a mind to make you work for it, to let myself lie back and allow you fill me with that beautiful cock of yours. I've dreamt of nothing but having you in me for so long, and yet at the moment, I find I’d much rather take care of you. I don’t fancy the thought of you straining your injuries any more than we already have.”

Their gazes connected, and Bard knew Thranduil understood the precise amount of trust he was asking from his hitman. It was trust implicitly given, but Thranduil asked anyways, and Bard wrapped his legs around his beloved to rock their bodies together, smirking at the sudden hiss Thranduil made when the slick friction of their cocks proved too much. His grey eyes disappeared behind fluttering lashes, and the mewling cry he made nearly had Bard ignoring the agenda of the evening in favor of flipping Thranduil over and having his way with him, injuries be damned.

“I’m yours, Thranduil. Have me however you like,” he whispered in his ear, biting gently, delighted by the trembling it set off in Thranduil’s lithe form.

“Wicked boy,” Thranduil purred when he drew back up to kiss him, and Bard donned his best innocent face, which Thranduil returned with an indulgent arch of his brow.

“ _Oh!_ ” The speed with which he found himself on his belly was astounding, with Thranduil’s body covering his, pressing him down to the bed. His legs were parted by Thranduil’s knees, and one hand caressed the back of his hair tenderly while the other slid down to his hip to raise him up onto all fours.

He moved at Thranduil’s silent command, letting his lover do what he would, until he felt a hand pressing against the small of his back. His hips jerked at the thought of what Thranduil wanted, and with a quiet sound of assent, he lowered his shoulders to rest his weight on his forearms, head hanging low to press into the pillow. He tilted his ass up, and wound his fingers around the iron spirals of the headboard, grateful for something to grip onto. He was submission embodied, like this, and the ache that swept through him as he thought of the pleasure Thranduil was about to unleash on him told him they’d most certainly wind up here again, and soon.

Thranduil took a moment to admire the sight laid before him. Bard was like a treasure hoard for the taking, more stunning and valuable than gems or coins, and far warmer in his affections. His body and heart were Thranduil’s as surely as the opposite was true, and Thranduil planned on worshipping the glorious form kneeling in submission beneath him.

This man had been a surprising ally, and an even unlikelier friend, but when Thranduil had realized years ago that Bard’s loyalty and adoration for his boss surpassed anything else, he’d also understood that there was no safer place to keep his heart than in Bard’s hands.

Someday, he would begin the steps required to have Bard become a leader in his own right. When his hitman was ready, he would guide and teach him everything he needed to know so that a day would come when the world would know they were equals in every capacity. They might know it here, in this room, in the rooms beyond, but soon everyone would understand that there were only two sides of this eternal battle: his and not his. Bard would be the general of his forces, a king to those that needed protection and found themselves crying out for what only his people could provide in this broken world of death and carnality.

Thranduil would be the sword: the light to pierce the dark in times of war, quick and fleeting, without remorse, cutting through the lines of their enemies with ice gripping his heart and righteous fury in his every movement.

Bard...Bard would be the shield. The fortress, the home he could return to when his heart grew battle weary. He would be the one Thranduil sent people to, whether they were new recruits or people to protect. Bard would be the first thing they’d see, all kindness and a desire to protect those with less. He was unyielding power. Where Thranduil grew tired quickly, Bard was tireless. His treasure would open the doors to a new life for so many people, and all of them would know that this man was one whom they could trust with everything they possessed.

His fairness and honesty were rare jewels to come by in this world, and the fact that this man was his to take, his to love was...it was…

“ _Please_ ,” Bard whispered, arching further into his touch, and Thranduil could hold back no longer.

He licked and kissed down each ridge of the hitman’s spine, taking care to avoid the worst of the lash and burn marks adorning Bard’s strong back. He would not allow disgust for Thorin and his company to draw his attention from this room. Instead, he would remind himself that these marks had been etched into Bard on his behalf, and would be of far more use endeavoring to be worthy of them.

His hand reached out and found the bottle that lay near his leg, and let the slick drip at the base of Bard’s tailbone, watching the twitch of his muscles fight the cold sensation. He trailed a finger through it, running it down to Bard’s entrance, rubbing just the pad of his finger over it in a tease cruel enough that it made his own cock twitch in sympathy. Bard’s shoulders quivered, but he remained silent, simply pushing his hips back to try and entice Thranduil to give him what he wanted.

Tempting, but Thranduil wasn't quite ready to end their game.

Two fingers trailed through the lube this time, and repeated his actions from before. Bard’s breath was coming in pants, hips thrusting into nothing, his position worthless for giving him anything that Thranduil would not provide.

He gathered the rest of the lube to slick his fingers, and reached under Bard to take his length in hand, and Bard cried out when he began a slow rhythm, not enough to bring him close, but enough to ensure that Bard would have no trouble coming when Thranduil did.

“Oh God, Thranduil, _stop!_ Stop, I can’t--I don’t want-- _please_ \--!” He drew back immediately, stomach dropping for a moment before he realized that Bard was gripping his hand to bring it back against his entrance again.

“I beg of you, no more teasing,” he pleaded in a wrecked voice, and Thranduil’s gaze softened. “I want you in me so badly it hurts. Another day, you can have me as long as you want, till I know nothing but waiting for you to finally release me from this perfect torture, but right now just-- _fuck!_ ”

Thranduil watched with a hungry look as Bard’s head was pressed back down into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets when he plunged a finger into him. His rhythm was fast and focused on only the most economical of movements, until Bard clenched around him and asked for _yes, yes, more, please!_

Thranduil was in danger of coming right then and there when, two fingers in, he brushed against Bard’s prostate and the man let out the most beautifully needy whimper Thranduil had ever heard.

“In me, in me now!”

“You’re not ready--”

“I am, I am, I need you, I don’t _care_ , want to feel you for days, it doesn’t matter, just please _fuck me_ Thranduil, fuck me ‘til I’m screaming for you.”

Never, in all Thranduil’s life, had he ever bowed to another’s order. Today, he would make his first of many exceptions to come regarding the one who commanded his heart.

He slicked himself with the lube, focused entirely on Bard, who was writhing so perfectly now, ready to take this face down, without seeing the love written in Thranduil’s expression, given only to him. _Well_ , he tsked in his mind, _this simply won’t do_.

He turned Bard onto his back, and settled easily atop him, gaze caught in the warmth of Bard’s. An intimate smile graced the hitman’s lips, parted as they were to gasp for breath, and Bard reached up to brush the back of his bandaged fingers over Thranduil’s cheek. He brought Thranduil forward for a kiss and bit at his lover’s lip, eyes squeezed shut, when Thranduil began to push in. The burn was exquisite, and Bard had to break the kiss to press his face into Thranduil’s neck, gripping his soft hair to steady himself as his body worked to accommodate Thranduil’s.

He relaxed and took his lover in deeper, grinning through his harsh panting when Thranduil gasped and moaned, forehead rubbing back and forth against Bard’s chest.

“Unbearable,” he groaned, and let his mouth be taken in another kiss, setting a steady pace that would allow them a moment more to gather themselves. Bard’s hands gripped at his thighs and cupped the lush swell of Thranduil’s ass, pulling him in harder until the undulations of their hips sped to something wilder, more base and animal than he’d ever seen from his elegant boss, even the times when Thranduil allowed a bit of bloodlust to take him and had killed with something fiercer than a beast glowing in his eyes.

Thranduil’s nose pressed under his chin, and Bard tilted his head back, baring his neck, wanting to be marked unmistakably. The first time that perfect angle was found, deep and piercing and _ohfuckyessogood_ , Bard nearly screamed. Almost immediately, Thranduil slowed them down to nearly a standstill, and Bard had half a moment to wonder if those were truly tears of frustration leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“No, _no_ , please Thranduil!” Oh god he _needed_ \--

“So good,” Thranduil murmured against a new mark on his neck. “So tight and easy for me aren't you, Bard?”

Bard thought his world might collapse on itself from the heat that pooled in his stomach at those words. He could feel where he was stretched, held open my Thranduil’s cock. He clenched around Thranduil in petty revenge, though he’d have nothing to complain about in the morning if he found himself bedded through the night. His lover smirked.

“Naughty. Next time, I want to ride you. I want to take my time and feel every inch of you filling me up so perfectly. Maybe I’ll tie you to the headboard and make sure you keep your hands to yourself--I’m a bit helpless, after all, when it comes to giving you what you want, darling. Or perhaps I’ll forgo my control altogether and see what it’s like to be at your mercy, to be used and plundered and loved by you with nothing held back. It doesn't matter at the moment, because _this time_...”

Thranduil leaned down to bite his ear lightly and continued in a sinuous rumble, “This time, I’m going to wring every last scream from your throat. I will tear my name from your lips and hold you to me until we’re both spent. And then, my pet, my love, I am going to have you again. I am going to take you as many times as you can stand, until you’re stuffed full of my come and begging for nothing but _more_. When I’m satisfied, I’ll let you sleep, our bodies tangled, and in the morning, I’ll wake you with my mouth already on you. When I have your full attention, you’ll spread your legs so nicely for me, and you’ll still be so very slick and loose from tonight, I have no doubt I’ll be able to just slide right back in so that we might begin our day properly.”

He began to build his rhythm back up, aiming for the end now that he had what he wanted, fucking into him relentlessly, and if Bard had thought he’d been torn apart before, it was nothing compared to this.

“Agreed?”

He wondered if there was a single time or place or universe in which he said ‘no’.

“Yes,” he moaned, and then there was no more breath for words. Thranduil made good on his promise, taking him apart with his hands and mouth and cock, driving into him over and over until Bard felt every nerve alight with the awareness of who was fucking him into the mattress. A reedy gasp choked in his throat when Thranduil changed the angle of his thrusts to abuse his prostate mercilessly, until he could do nothing but lie there and take it, letting Thranduil pleasure him while he clung to him and prayed for it to never stop. Broken sounds spilled from them both, fragments of names and pleas and promises.

One more rut into him had his control hanging by a thread, and finally the scream he’d withheld was bared to the night air. “Thranduil! Fuck, fuck, let me come, please, I can’t-- _ah!_ I need--!”

Thranduil’s hands found his, their fingers tangled and held each other in a way that was somehow more intimate than the way their bodies were locked together. He angled his head up for a kiss, and when it was granted, barely more than a sharing of strained air and tender brushes of their lips, he felt peaceful in a way that had long been absent from his life.

“Yes, Bard. Come now, my love,” Thranduil commanded, and Bard was lost to it.

He came, shaking apart in Thranduil’s arms, spilling between them untouched, and his frame was wracked with shivers as Thranduil thrust only a few times more before his hips stuttered in their rhythm. Bard leaned up to press a kiss to his throat, grazed his teeth along the pulse point he found there, and could feel Thranduil sigh Bard’s name as spent himself inside the warm body beneath him.

Bard collapsed back onto the the pillows, chest rising and falling erratically while he tried to slow his breathing and still the trembling of his body, nerves overstimulated from the way the jolts going through him were keeping Thranduil inside of him until the _pleasurepain_ was too much to bear.

Thranduil carefully slipped out of him, both of them making a face at the loss, and laughed when he saw a mirrored disgruntled look on his hitman. “Soon enough,” he promised. “We need only catch our breaths, though I would certainly not be adverse to lying with you in my arms for a bit first.”

Bard hummed his approval of that plan, and opened his arms to receive his exhausted lover, grinning at the way Thranduil lay his head on his chest and twined their limbs together until there was no hope of separating them without full coherency.

His hand stroked through the soft hair tickling his sides, the pale gold strands fanned out so beautifully across pale shoulders.

Thranduil pulled his hair to the side so that Bard could stroke his neck and back, and who was Bard to deny such a pleasing sight? His fingers made the circuit over and over, until their breathing slowed to something resembling normalcy and Thranduil was just far enough into his doze that Bard was able to press a kiss to one palm and see a small smile in return. “Sleep,” he said softly, and Thranduil kissed his shoulder, murmuring his agreement before they both drifted off.

\---

When Elrond came in to check on Bard in the morning, he did so with trepidation. Thranduil had gone in, and when Elrond had given up on waiting him out, he’d had yet to emerge. He was loathe to find out if the night had ended with Bard’s departure, or worse, his death, but the sight that greeted him were neither of those things.

The most feared mob boss in the country was curled against the hitman’s chest, arm sprawled out over him in a possessive manner that brooked no argument about who he wanted to wake up with that morning. His hair was spilled over his shoulders in a way that made him look halfway between ethereal and deceptively innocent. One of Bard’s arms was curved under his own head, the other was wrapped around Thranduil’s sleeping form to hold them closely together, protective even in sleep.

Altogether, it made a rather endearing sight, no matter that both of these men were on every wanted list the world had to offer.

Well, this was certainly a far more pleasant outcome than the ones he’d been dreading, and Elrond smiled to himself as he let himself back out and instructed everyone to stay out of that particular room for a few more hours at least. If they made assumptions as to the nature of why they oughtn’t go near the room, eyes darting to the door fearfully, wondering what kind of bloodied mess someone was going to have to clean later, he certainly wasn't going to correct them.

He hoped Thranduil appreciated the lengths he went to to make sure everyone was out of that hallway by the time the sleepy pair had woken and Thranduil made good on the second part of his promises.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [【授权翻译】【瑟巴】不要走进那个良夜](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3716239) by [rip_to_eat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rip_to_eat/pseuds/rip_to_eat)




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